


Artistic Verisimilitude

by IshtarsDream



Category: Fairy Tales & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: AU Renaissance Italy with Magic, Gen, Holmes Pastiche
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-08
Updated: 2017-01-08
Packaged: 2018-09-15 15:17:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9241211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IshtarsDream/pseuds/IshtarsDream
Summary: Artist Leonardo di Piero is beset by a magical attacker. There is only one man who can help him - the mysterious Sage, Guillermo del Nido.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this story as a combination pastiche of Sherlock Holmes and Mercedes Lackey's 500 Kingdoms series. Then I edited off the identifying marks so I could enter it as an independent fantasy in a writing competition. Since I didn't win the competition, I am now free to post the story here. I had to take major liberties with the background of the one "real world" character, but I'm sure you'll be able to identify who everybody really is!

The Great Hall of the Duke’s Palace was filled with the cream of society, who circulated and chattered nonsense and glittered in their finery.  Master Artist Leonardo di Piero moved among them, nodding respectfully to the gentlemen and smiling and bowing over the hands of the ladies. Inwardly, he gloated. There were dignitaries from at least four kingdoms here, not counting the Grand Duchy of Fiore itself. Lords and ladies, a few ambassadors, only the richest of the merchants and bankers, and even a Wizard or two. All here to witness his triumph, the unveiling of his portrait of Her Grace, the Grand Duchess - his finest work, if he said so himself. It would make his reputation, and soon all these fine folk would be vying to offer him their patronage, and fat commissions as well.

He took a glass of fine wine from a tray carried by a servant. It was easily the best he had ever tasted – his family, while well off, was not sufficiently wealthy to purchase vintages such as this. While he sipped at it appreciatively, a gentleman clad in velvet approached him. The man looked familiar, but Leonardo couldn’t place him. For anyone else that wouldn’t be unusual in a crowd like this, but Leonardo had an artist’s eye, and prided himself on never forgetting a face. Perhaps he was a relative of someone he knew, or a member of the Duke’s family. That would explain it. He smiled in greeting to the stranger.

“It’s all mine, you know,” said the newcomer without preamble.

“I beg your pardon?”

“The painting,” he said, nodding at the dais where the covered portrait stood. “Well, the Duke paid for it, but you know what I mean. I created it, and all this,” he continued, waving his hand to encompass the entire Hall, “is for me.”

“I do believe you’ll find otherwise,” said Leonardo, smirking. The nerve of the fellow!

“I believe _you_ will,” said the stranger, giving a mocking half-bow before slipping away into the crowd.

Leonardo tried to follow, but lost him almost immediately. He wondered whether he should alert a guard, but at that moment the trumpets sounded a fanfare; the Grand Duke and his lady appeared at the head of the stairs and moved down to join their guests. Leonardo moved to the front of the crowd and bowed. He expected at least a small smile from Her Grace – after six months of work on her portrait, they knew each other well – but her gaze slid past him as if she didn’t see him at all.

The Duke’s party progressed to the dais, where His Grace gave a short speech and Her Grace pulled the satin rope that caused the cover to drop and reveal the painting in all its glory. After the gasping and the oohing and aahing, the Duke introduced Leonardo, holding out his hand graciously, and the stranger stepped brazenly up to the dais, receiving the applause and being introduced to the Duke’s peers. Her Grace smiled warmly at him, while Leonardo himself stood stunned in the crowd.

After too long a moment, Leonardo tried to push his way past the ceremonial guards at the base of the dais. “No, no, Your Grace – My Lady! He’s a fake, this man is a fake! I am Leonardo di Piero. You know me!”

The smile disappeared from the face of Her Grace, the Laughing One, third most beautiful woman in Fiore. “Do you think I wouldn’t recognize the man who’s been painting me for the past months? This is Leonardo, the student of the great Master Rinaldo himself. I’ve no idea who you are, though.”

The Duke gestured to the guards, who seized Leonardo and bustled him out of the room. They handed him off to a group of terribly efficient servants who in turn dragged him through the back corridors of the Palace and thrust him out a side entrance into the grip of a pair of armsmen.

“This fellow has had a bit too much of His Grace’s brandy. Escort him from the grounds, and if he makes a fuss, don’t hesitate to arrest him.”

Dazed by the swift turn of events, Leonardo was dragged off by the armsmen through the tradesmen’s entrance rather than the front gate through which he’d entered a few hours before. He didn’t fight them – that would be pure folly – but vigorously protested his treatment.

“Can’t you see I’m not drunk? Captain Dell’Urbi, you know me! I’m Leonardo di Piero, I’ve talked with you many times!”

“I’ve met Master di Piero frequently and know him well,” said the Captain. “You are most definitely not him. I suggest you go home and sleep off whatever it is you’ve drunk, my lad, or it will be a night in a cell for you! And a trip to the madhouse if you persist in this delusion!”

The gate guard swung the iron gates open, and Leonardo was ejected – with quite a bit of unnecessary force, from his perspective – from the Palace grounds. As the gates clanged shut behind him, he picked himself up and dusted himself off. The finery he’d chosen for the gala was now sadly the worse for wear, the plume in his cap broken, and his cloak still inside the Palace somewhere. To top it off, there was no sign of a carriage-for-hire anywhere. It was going to be a long walk home. And then he’d have to face his family, who were no doubt waiting up for him to tell them the details of his triumph, and find some way to explain what had happened.

All in all, he thought, he’d had better nights. 

 

* * *

 

 

The next day Leonardo woke late with his head pounding and forced down a cup of bitter willow bark tea before he could face the prospect of food. His father and brothers had already eaten before he came to the table, but his mother and sister were lingering over a glass of red wine and biscotti.

“What really happened last night, Leo?” asked his mother. “Marco came home from the gala and said some drunk got thrown out. But he also said you were with His Grace most of the night, even though you came home early.”

“I don’t know, Mother,” said Leonardo. “I thought I knew, but it’s all fuzzy in my head now. There was a man … I didn’t recognize him, but he looked familiar … maybe a cousin? He was pretending to be me. He fooled everyone, even people who know me.” He dunked his biscotti morosely in his wine. “I’ll have to go back to the Palace to straighten things out. With luck I can manage to explain things before my reputation is totally ruined.”

“Your reputation is fine. Marco said everybody loved the painting, and they were practically stepping on each other to get an invitation to your salon.”

“Thank God for that, anyway.”

The conversation was interrupted when the door behind him opened, and a cheery voice called out, “Hello, Mother! Sofia. Fine morning, isn’t it?”

Leonardo’s mother looked up and a confused expression passed across her face briefly, then cleared.

“Yes dear, perfectly lovely. We were just chatting with, um … about last night.”

“Everything went wonderfully. Don’t worry, I’ll be able to introduce our dear Sofia to all the right people. Should have a match made in a couple of months at most.”

Sofia smiled and looked pleased.

The new arrival pulled out a chair and sat down next to Leonardo.  “Wonderful party last night; so sorry you missed most of it.”

Leonardo looked up for the first time, at the man who was wearing his clothes and his _face!_ “Who are you? What are you doing here” he snarled.

The interloper leaned back and smiled easily. “So sorry, didn’t I tell you? I’m Leonardo, the famous painter. Pleased to meet you. Now get out of my father’s house.”

“How dare you? This is _my_ father’s house. You are the interloper here, not I! I demand you leave at once. _And stop wearing my face!_ ” He lunged at the intruder, who kicked his chair backwards to escape Leonardo’s grasping hands. One of the stranger’s boots caught Leonardo in the solar plexus, winding him, and then both men were on the floor, each attempting to grapple the other.

Leonardo’s mother screamed for help, while Sofia grabbed the decanter and struck when she had a chance, smashing the earthenware bottle across Leonardo’s head. Wine mixed with blood and got in his eyes, while his double managed to get a firm grip on his throat. Servants and a few of Leonardo’s brothers rushed into the room and pulled the two men apart. Sofia replaced the bottle with a brass candlestick which she wielded with murderous intent. Fortunately for Leonardo, their mother decided that it was now safe to faint, and his sister was diverted into caring for her. He was outnumbered by his brothers, who dragged him from the room and cast him out of the townhouse onto the street.

While he was once again trying to gain his feet, his double wiped wine from his face with his handkerchief. “Well, this has been an entertaining morning, hasn’t it? I wonder if you can tell what’s going to happen next?” He grinned evilly and tossed the sopping cloth to Leonardo. “I’ll see you again soon. You might want to run for it before the City Watch get here. Tomorrow’s a big day, and I’d hate for you to miss it.”

Laughing, he stepped back into the house and slammed the door.

Hearing the sound of boots pounding toward him on the pavement, Leonardo decided to take his advice, and fled.

 

* * *

 

He wasn’t sure, afterward, how long he wandered in the maze of the city’s Old Quarter, simply dazed at first and then trying to figure out what had happened and what to do about it. Definitely some hours. Long enough for the businesses to close and the crowds of vendors, customers, and deliverymen to clear the streets. Long enough for the sun to sink behind the towers of the cathedral and shadows to fill the narrow streets. Long enough for fog to drift and pool along the cobblestones. It was that last detail that brought him out of his stupor. _Fog?_ It was high summer; rain was unusual at this season and fog even more so.

He looked about to find himself on a street he didn’t recognize. Golden light spilled out of the window of the floor above a shuttered bake shop. A stuffed owl mounted on a book was outlined by the light, seeming to look down at him with glassy eyes. The owl signified that this was the dwelling of a Sage or Sophont – a wise man or scholar at any rate.

Leonardo was more than intelligent enough to realize when he was out of his depth. He also knew that it was no accident that he had come here. He hadn’t studied magical tradition deeply, but he knew how these things worked. When you were beset by the uncanny, through no fault of your own, help was usually available. You just had to be humble enough to ask for advice, and sensible enough to take it.

The door was painted a smooth black, with a bronze knocker. Leonardo rapped sharply three times and waited for an answer. After a moment, the door opened to reveal an elderly woman in a black housedress. She took one look at him and uttered a shriek, slamming the door in his face. At first he was puzzled, then remembered what he must look like – face bruised, hair matted with blood, wine staining his linen tunic and tights, no hat or cloak. Hell, _he_ wouldn’t let himself in right now. Disheartened, he turned to leave, when the door opened again. 

A stocky man dressed for home, with an open robe over his short gown, stood holding a crossbow pointed at him. Behind the armed man stood a taller, thin man wearing robes in the style of a scholar, but made of luxurious fabric. The elderly housekeeper peered out fearfully from behind them both.

“Are you armed, sir?” asked the man with the crossbow. He held it like he was very well acquainted with its use. “Do you know any sort of magic?”

“I am not,” said Leonardo, spreading his hands wide. “I have no sword, not even a dagger. What magic I possess can do no harm to anyone.”

“Come, Gianni,” said the tall man. “Our guest has obviously come off worst in a battle with a wine bottle and someone vigorously applying their fists. Do you think he would be in that condition if he had useful magics or any weapon larger than a stiletto? He is tired, hungry and wounded – is it not our duty to tend to those who need aid? Sir, I am Guillermo del Nido, and you are welcome here. Please, come up to our study. Marta, there is nothing to fear – please bring a basin of water and clean cloths to tend to his hurts.”

“Leonardo di Piero, sir. I thank you most heartily.”

The woman disappeared into the rear of the house, while the tall man calmly led Leonardo up a narrow flight of stairs. The stocky man, Gianni, watchfully followed behind with his crossbow still cocked.

The study was lined with bookcases along every bit of available wall, reaching to the high ceiling. Leonardo had never seen so many books in a private residence before. The fireplace mantel was cluttered with artifacts and ornaments ranging from a framed map of the known world, to the skull of a unicorn, to a painted silk fan from the far realm of Qin. The tall man drew out a chair from alongside an equally cluttered table and indicated that Leonardo should make himself comfortable. Gianni left the crossbow where he could lay his hands on it easily and turned his attention to Leonardo’s injuries, cleaning the blood from his split scalp with deft and gentle fingers once Marta arrived with a basin. She was then sent back downstairs to bring up a light supper of bread and cheese and wine, since Leonardo had begun to shake from hunger.

“Now that you have been tended and fed, perhaps you can tell us the circumstances that have brought you to my door. Pray be thorough, for you may not know what detail is important. And please, please do not be boring.”

Slowly at first, then faster as he gathered confidence, Leonardo explained the events of the past two days. Through it all, Guillermo sat motionless, eyes closed as he took in the details.

“A most intriguing situation, Ser Leonardo. Not in the common way of puzzles. May I be so rude as to ask the nature of your magic? It may apply to the matter at hand.”

“It is exceedingly minor, Ser Guillermo. Not worth mentioning most of the time. You are aware of the gift of the Seventh Son?”

“I know of it.”

“Well, I am a seventh child but not a seventh son. I have five older brothers and an older sister. Ordinarily, any gift of a seventh child is extremely minor, but my mother is the descendant of a Fae-born line. This gift also is minor, but together they combine to give me a form of Sight, to see not what is, but what may be. When I was a child, I often could not tell the difference. My sketches of what I saw attracted the attention of Master Rinaldi, who took me as his apprentice. I have recently completed my Master-work and am establishing a studio of my own.”

“Interesting, but it is not clear if it’s relevant. Have you had any peculiar encounters in recent days? During the past week, perchance?”

“You mean aside from having someone steal my face?”

“Aside from that, yes.”

Leonardo paused to think for a bit. “I can only think of one thing. Three days ago, as I passed the cathedral, I noted a funeral procession. It was very small – no mourners, and only a few clergy. As I passed by, I felt a chill run from my head to my toes, just for a moment, and heard a sigh as if someone was standing next to me. Then the feeling was gone, and I thought it just a breeze. I gave no further thought to the matter.”

“I begin to see our way. You, my dear sir, are spirit-ridden. It is what they call a doppelganger in Alemania, or a fetch in Eire. This is the first I have heard of one here. The funeral was doubtless for some unhappy soul who does not wish to pass over to the next world. Most people would not be targets for this kind of uneasy spirit, but since you have a magical potential, and are largely untrained in protecting yourself, it was able to attach itself to you as a spirit double.”

“For what purpose?”

“That should be obvious. It intends to take your life, your very identity, away from you. It has already taken your past and present. Only your future remains to you. The words your double spoke – you are quite sure that he said he would see you tomorrow?”

“Yes.”

“What is happening tomorrow that is important to your future?”

“My studio – tomorrow I am holding a salon there, to display my art and hopefully attract clients wishing to commission works from my hand. Many of those invited to His Grace’s gala last night will be there, and other distinguished members of the community.”

“Ah, I believe I have received an invitation to this salon,” said Guillermo. “I must admit I was not inclined to attend, but I believe I must change my mind on that score. Gianni and I will most certainly be there.”

“I will be glad to see you there, as I now feel sure the double intends to steal this last part of my life. What will happen to me if it is successful?”

“Nothing good. At best, if you allow it willingly, it will claim your name, your fortune, and your magic, and you will have to go to another City and try to make a new life for yourself from scratch. You will be completely ordinary, but you would live. At worst, if you fought it and did not permit it? Madness. Perhaps death, which might be preferable.”

“What can I do to prevent it? I am no fighter. Is there something you or Ser Gianni can do?”

“It is bound to you as you are bound to it, and only you can fight it. You must challenge it for your right to your own life. Name the terms and fight in whatever way you see fit. If you win, it can be banished from this world.”

“In the meantime,” said Gianni, “you are fair exhausted and must sleep.”

“I don’t think I can sleep now,” Leonardo admitted.

“Then we will give you a draught to help you,” said Guillermo. “You must rest. Marta will make up a bed for you upstairs, and tomorrow … we will see what we will see.”

 

* * *

 

Early in the morning, the odd party arrived at Leonardo’s studio on the outskirts of the city. While Leonardo changed his worn and soiled clothing, Guillermo and Gianni curiously explored the painting studio, the sculpture yard, and substantial collections of anatomical models and weird mechanical creations. Midday saw the delivery of food and wine. Shortly after that, Leonardo’s family arrived _en masse_ , with the double happily ensconced in their midst.

His brothers did not seem surprised to see Leonardo here – who knew what the double had told them the previous day? – and were prepared to throw him out bodily again. Leonardo surprised them by pushing his way in among them and seizing the impostor by the front of his tunic. “You!” Leonardo cried so all could hear clearly. “I know you now for the creature you are! I am Leonardo di Piero, and I charge you as a deceiver, a pretender attempting to steal my name.”

“My dear boy, I believe I’ve already done it,” drawled the fake. “There’s nothing you can do about it now. So just run along like the nameless peasant you are and eke out whatever life you can. Your name, your magic, your art, are mine.”

“I challenge you, spirit! My life is mine and I will not let you take it!”

“Name your terms.”

“Art to art, then, winner take all.”

Guillermo and Gianni, who had been waiting for their cue, pushed out two large easels, each equipped with sketch paper, pencils and charcoal sticks. Leonardo and the double took their places at the easels while the family grumbled. Confused by the double’s magic, they had no idea what was going on, but at least they didn’t interrupt.

The combat that ensued was almost silent. The only sound was the scratch of pencil and charcoal on paper, and the rustle as each sheet was finished. Yet there was no doubt that it was intense, as both men were scowling and sweating with effort after only a few minutes.

Leonardo’s art was hesitant at first, while the double slashed his tools confidently across the paper, producing a detailed sketch of the portrait of the Duchess, followed by a landscape of the Palace grounds. Leonardo, on the other hand, started with a sketch of an elderly woman wearing elaborate jewelry and followed with an eerie landscape of strange temples crumbling beneath the roots of giant trees. And so it progressed as they continued – each of the double’s works was a copy, elegantly created, but still a copy, of one of Leonardo’s previous works or a view of something everyone else knew well. Leonardo produced fantasies, people that had never existed, landscapes that only he could see, sketches of devices that existed only in his mind. The double’s art was technically excellent, but sterile. He could not draw anything new. Leonardo’s confidence and power began to return to him as he drew, and as he felt his magic again, pulled on the spirit’s energy too.

Eventually he forsook paper entirely, and sketched out his dreams in lines of gold and silver that hung in the air so everyone could see them. Meanwhile the doppelganger’s art became less finished, clumsier and more childlike, yet he could not stop drawing. The longer the combat continued, the less the double looked like Leonardo, or even human. Finally, its power gone and its face doughy and almost featureless, it broke away from its easel and tried to flee, but it was hampered by a pale cord that seemed to connect it to Leonardo, holding it back. Leonardo drew a silver sword in the air and brought it slashing down on the cord, severing the connection between them.

The double stumbled toward the door to make its getaway, when a sharp twanging noise rang out, and it fell dead on the threshold with a crossbow bolt through it. Gianni casually loaded another bolt to the bow he’d brought with him and secreted in the studio, just in case, but it was not necessary. The body of the double melted away like mist, leaving only its clothing behind.

Leonardo dropped his charcoal and stepped over to where the clothing lay. “Dammit, that was my best tunic!”

“A small price to pay for your life, I think,” said Guillermo.

“Was it necessary to kill it?”

“We couldn’t have it victimizing anyone else, could we?” Guillermo looked to Leonardo, still surrounded by glowing images of his dream devices, some sort of tiny flying boat swooping around his head. “But it is all over now, and I believe I can safely say that your future is very, very bright.”

 

 


End file.
